Time to Become Phony
by Cathielle
Summary: Holden - 10yrs later, was the topic. "Once the time comes when you realize that you are no longer a child. But is the phoniness of adults a must-be?" Fun, death, romance, memories and typical swearings... R&R if possible :


Original Story "The Catcher in the Rye" (and all the rights) belong to J. D. Salinger. I "own" only this fiction since I call myself its author (written for my literature class). Please enjoy (if there´s someone still reading the Catcher :D). Oh, and one last thing.. There might be some gramatical mistakes which I accidentally skipped and I also know I have been using certain words ..eeh, a lot :D

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***Time to become phony***

I felt someone patting my forehead. The hand, slowly moving my hair aside woke me up. I opened my eyes in a hurry to see Mr. Antolini sitting by my side. That damn guy. Didn´t he scared me enough the last time? I mean, he sure knew about me getting all sore from him doing it about like hundred years ago, when I slept over at his place. "No, Holden. It´s been only ten years, handsome," he said. It gave me some helluva creeps. Could he read my mind or something, for Chrissake? "Certainly, I can." I didn't need to think more about it since he gave me the answer himself. But how the hell did he manage to do something like that? I mean, could he read my mind since forever? If he could, he would have known how I felt from his touch the last time, damn it. He only looked at me, no answers this time. I wondered, in the meantime, like if it was true that he could read others´ thoughts, what certainly was, if he could read only my mind or that of other people as well? Helluva guy didn't reply again. Maybe he couldn´t do it again. For Chrissake, if there were like more people with such ability it would be quite some problem. Take for example my brother, D.B. If there was this someone who could actually read his thoughts, poor D.B. might have never become famous and gone to Hollywood and all, because someone would write with his ideas before him, and everybody would like think he was some copycat and all. Old D.B. would be ruined then. "Holden," old Antolini suddenly said. I almost forgot he was still there. I paid him a look and noticed that he was getting really old, like, you know I mean the grey hair and so. He might be like old Mr. Spencer soon. The old geezer was really a good picture of old age. Like with his grey hairy chest and legs and all the dark circles on his arms and pale skin and so. He certainly was old, old Mr. Spencer. "You are old too, Holden boy." Mr. ANtolini kept disturbing my thoughts quite often recently, I thought. I mean, he didn´t do it before, right? I searched my goddam memory with holes all around so that the past was bleeding away like crazy. And they say I was a mandman. Though I probably was, damn it. Mr. Antolini with his grayish hair was glazing at me like crazy. If he had slightly bigger eyes they would like fall out of his goddam face. The note he said somehow rewind in my head again and just then the meaning hit me. Old – and me? No way. I mean like, yeah, I have always had this gray wisp of hair there but I never really felt old, like for example old Mr. Spencer for instance. He sure was old, old as hell. But not me. "Yes, Holden, you might not want to admit it, but you are aging, as everyone. Take a look at your hat. The red one you used to wear a lot before, you see the shining colors?" I didn´t like his sarcasm this time. I certainly did enjoy it before, I was even willing to let the touching he tried on me to pass and all, but not my hat. I, of course knew its colors weren´t as bright as before but goddamit it was only because I never washed it. The hell it was! Right?

Somehow I didn´t really convince myself with that. And also I really hated this compassionate look in his eyes. Like, I mean it really pissed me off. I felt like going crazy now and yell at him for it and all, and I would also hit him, right in the face so the sonuvabitch would remember to touch me next time. Boy I was angry. And he still kept on this pitying sort of grimace. "Holden, do you fear flits?" It kind of shocked me. Like hell I didn´t like them , who would, but fear? Hell not. And then followed another soothing sorta look. I would so love to smack him in the face. I swear I would, if I just wasn´t so yellow. I mean, I am not some kinda coward or anything but still, he was my teacher and all, and he was a fine guy too. Before he turned flit. Hell it pissed me. There are like tons of phonies, you know, but I never thought this guy would be one of them. And he even had a wife, for Chrissake! "Holden, boy, if you marry, no flit will ever go near you."

I hurriedly sat up and all the blood rushed to my head and made me blind there for a second. I was kinda sweaty from the dream, probably from all the pissing off and so. Or maybe I had too thick of a blanket on, I noted when I looked at my lower part. I was sitting on the bed in my room. No Mr. Antolini around. I kinda sighed in relief. I really didn´t enjoy thinking about him. For God´s sake, had I a perfect reason for it!

I couldn´t sleep anymore, so I just got up to make myself some coffee. I had a maid and all but it was still soon so I decided not to wake her up for something like that. I mean, she would want to talk and so on, maybe throwing some phony clauses my side or something and I really was in no mood for that. Hell, was I so deep in thoughts. Not about old Mr. Antolini though, the hell I would be thinking about him and his perverty stuff, but anyway, I somehow became interested in the last thing he said. To marry. The word sounded pretty phony, like to tie your ass to one person and never look at others in the same way and all, I mean it´s like romantic and all and certainly all girls think about it, or were thinking since most of them are already married. Take old Jane Gallagher, for instance. She somehow started to be too interested in this guy whose name I can´t even pronounce, something in French or so, and then he like gave her a ring which wasn´t even pretty. If it was me, I would have bought a grand one for old Jane. She deserves it, the ring. A cool one, so she could walk in the helluva park with all these friends she always chats and so each of them would go green with jealousy. I can imagine it, old Jane and the ring, though. It would make a good image. But she got engaged to this French guy who can´t even speak properly and linger around certain words with r-s like a mandman. For real. He starts telling you something and then just stops at the best part and just watches you like crazy and then comes this phony tilting of his head and in the goddam voice of his, all phony as hell as he tries to sounds innocent and all he spit the word out, but most of the time you don´t even understand it in the end for Crissake. I hate French. Like, not hate as hate, I am sure there are some nice guys too, take for example this singer in the night bar on the Fifth Avenue, she looks sweet and kind as hell, a helluva girl I tell you. But what I mean is I really hate this French guy old Jane had given her life to. He is just a corny bastard. And phony as hell. I bet if he ever has a child, the poor kid will have some brain damage or something from just being with him. And she, I mean the child, wouldn´t even ask about the ducks in the park, because it couldn´t. I doubt the Frenchy-French would ever take the child to watch the ducks, though. But if the child asked about the ducks and their winter time he would probably just act as if he didn´t understood or something. Most people do that. Like if they were trying to hide the fact they simply don´t know, they act as if they didn´t hear you and start a new topic. And poor Jane had to become a woman of such guy. Maybe I should have given her a buzz when I had time, dammit. Boy, but was it too late now.

"Holden, dear, you up already?" our home-maid had always this motherly smile on. I kinda liked it, because it was funny as hell when her fat lips curved upwards and it lifted her little nose up and all. She then made breakfast for everyone, smiling like madman at everyone, just like only she could. I mean, it was kind of phony sometimes, like take for example when she was trying to feed poor Phoebe, my little sister, with these red beans. She was telling her all these good for nothing stuff like the bean was good for her health and all but you could see the old Phoebs didn´t give a damn. And the thing was, that not even the maid liked the stupid beans, but she had to feed it to Phoebe because of my mother. She was this kind of nervous when old Phoebe got these stomachaches and all and the doc had said to her to feed Phoebe the beans to ease the pressure or something. Lie as hell but mother was all anxious about Phoebs not ending like poor Allie, my little brother who died. And so old Phoebe, all intelligent and so, took it to her mouth, and then went to the bathroom and spitted it into the toilet. It killed me like she all smiled at the maid when she packed her mouth full of the beans and then telling her that she needed to go to the toilet fast. Old Phoebe knew what to do, like really. It made mother happy as well that Phoebe will get better because she ate the damn beans and maid was also happy because it gave her pain in the ass to feed an obstinate child as old Phoebs. And the best thing was that when she finally got rid of the beans into the toilet and all she borrowed mother´s toothbrush and cleaned her teeth and mouth and all. It almost killed me when she saw me standing there and watching her, she said that she used mother´s toothbrush so mom would know better next time that it feels like shit, the beans, and wouldn´t make her eat it again. She lifted her hand like she was holding some kinda scary gun or something and said: "The revenge for the dead cannot be omitted for the sake of live!" It was like in one comics book she used to read over and over again, though I don´t really remember the heroes freaking out because of some beans. Anyway, as she repeated it, it almost knocked me out, I mean if I wasn´t sitting on the bath tube, I would be off in the very moment. Really, like you should have seen it, she is one hell of an actress. It always kills me when she does something like that and all, old Phoebs.

I am always the one to fetch the letters, like every morning, probably because of this kinda freeloading business and all. Well, I am living with my parents and all, but since I still ain´t one to bring money home or at least some phony gifts that people give us from time to time like we were some kinda charity or what, I have to at least bring the letters from the doors when the postman comes. And so I did also today, without a single complain goddamit. It was like the first time I didn´t have a say to it and they didn´t even notice. If I screamed or something, what I will probably do the next time, at least there won´t be this dead silence as this morning. I just like walked in and everyone, even old Phoebe gave me this scary look, like they were sorry or something. I wondered if they could somehow read my mind as old Antolini did in that helluva dream I had tonight, and felt sorry for not talking to me a lot lately, though I doubted it. For Chrissake, was it annoying as hell. "What´s with ´dat look?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably. I only then realized how weird if felt to have everyone staring at you as some bunch of fish you forgot to return to the tank after cleaning.

"Holden, boy, I am sorry. Bad news," my dad kinda announced after good five hours of just staring in my direction. I really hate when someone just stares at you with a phony looking grimace pulled up his face and then when he finally decides to share what was going on, he just tells you "bad news". And a pause. It almost got me killed the very second I heard it, but if it actually really did I would have missed the part that was yet to come. And that would be bad as hell. "Mr. Spencer, your old History teacher had a heart attack," mother said. She probably knew about my kinda impatient character and all, but she was a mother so it was only natural I guess. "Well, that´s bad. Is he aw´right?" I asked. Really, it must have looked as if I was the biggest, phoniest bastard walking the face of the Earth. For Chrissake, just how was I normal? I swear I must have stopped in the middle of the way when everyone was receiving sanity from the God or something. "He isn´t, Holden. I´m sorry, he died last night."

It hurt. Somehow I felt this huge rock crushing my lungs and all. It was a weird feeling, creepy as hell. And I also felt quite lousy, which I don't know why. Old Mr. Spencer was dead.

The all-mighty, hefty as hell, corny from time to time – the old man was not there anymore. Crap. I could remember just as flawlessly as it happened just yesterday or something, the time when I got flunk from Pensey, the hot-shot school for cool guys. It was freezing as hell and my fingers even looked more like some creepy icicles than real human flesh goddamit, and then I rang the bell of old Spencer´s mansion. The old man was waiting for me there, with some old man hair on his chest sticking out from the skirts of his bathrobe, the good old Spencer. He was a nice guy, helluva nice guy, to tell you the truth. Well, I actually didn´t know him all so well and stuff, but he never meant any bad to me. Yeah, he was a pain in the ass sometimes, but let´s get it straight, everyone can be like that, for Chrissake, and now he´s gone. No way in hell. He also tried telling me some advice, but sure as hell I wouldn´t listen. But he was a nice guy and all, old Mr. Spencer. And his wife too. She always had this hot chocolate ready anytime I came over, and it had been quite a lot back then. She was a helluva cook, Mrs. Spencer. I liked her, and her chocolate as well. I bet she must be lonely as hell now. I never actually saw her all chitty-chatty and all with old Mr. Spencer but I would bet my life, I swear that they certainly did talk a lot. Dammit, just what else is there to do when you are so old and all? You just feel as sitting in your big fat armchair, wearing your old stinking bathrobe all day long and chat your not so chatty husband, who just happens to be corny as hell. Most husbands are like that, dammit. I bet I will be as well.

I thought it over fast once more. Maybe I won´t be like that. Maybe I will stay a lone wolf for the rest of my life, I thought. I mean, it´s not like I didn´t like girls or something, I do, I enjoy horsing around with them and all as hell, some helluva fun you could tell, but it still never grows into something more, like real love and so. I actually was thinking about it once, like getting married, having some children that would be a pain in the ass and all, but the only girl I could picture was old Jane Gallagher. For Chrissake, she was in a relationship already, damn it. And she surely will have all these phony children running around because the phony French guy would have a phony influence on them and all. My children would be all cool and intelligent and they would kill me all the time, like old Phoebe or something. And my wife would be a great cook too, and we would have a great life and all and my life would be like you know helluva grand. Grand. I still don´t like that word, is phony as hell, but it just somehow stuck to me around all the phonies. Well, or maybe it isn´t as phony, but all the phonies using it made it look phony. I mean like, take some Sally Hayes or so, she was all beautiful but phony as hell, like she wanted to be all adult and all. It gave me pain in the ass. I also said it to her though she didn´t like to hear it. Guess why. But, like I mean, there are even not phony ways to use that word, like when old Mrs. Spencer uses it, it sounds all nice as hell. Poor lady, now she might even stop using that word because she would be lonely as hell and wouldn´t have like anyone to say it to. Damn it, I didn´t like the idea much, maybe I should go and visit her. Or maybe not, because if she started to cry or so over old Mr. Spencer and stuff it would be really a pain in the ass. I mean, like I would be clueless about what to do.

I was also actually invited to the funeral ceremony, the old Mr. Spencer´s, I mean. I have never been to one, not even to the one of my brother Allie who died a long time ago, so I wasn´t quite sure what to wear and all. In the end I went for a simple black suit and all stuff in that kinda fashion. To tell you the truth, my mother helped me some. And so I went. It was like really dark session there, all the mourning silhouettes and so, I was kinda puzzled if it was a right thing to do, I mean to actually go there. But then I would have be probably pissed at myself if I hadn´t gone.

It took a long time, I mean all the crying, and prayers, and then putting the coffin deep down. I was standing there all on my own and watching him, old Mr. Spencer. He was like lying somewhere there in the depths of ground and I somehow wondered how he was. I mean, if he went to heaven or so, well certainly he didn´t go to hell or something, he was too nice of a guy for that, but you know, what if he got like stuck here, staring at his dead, cold body covered by all the smelly, fresh ground and so. It kinda made me feel weird. Like frustrated or something. It´s not like I loved him or anything, but I just couldn´t stop rewinding all the faces he could make, the happy one, one grumpy as hell, and all of his wrinkles just centered around his big nose and you could barely see his eyes, and then the time when he was all deep in thoughts, giving me advice. Maybe I should have done more, dammit. It was so stupid to have conscience. I just couldn´t stop somehow regret all the advice I received and just let it pass me as some annoying flies. I suddenly felt stupid. And then I heard this deep intake of breath from behind me, and I got like scared as hell. I turned then to see old Mrs. Spencer. She really was a widow now. The black dress was covering her friendly round figure and she was wearing a huge black hat. I didn´t like her wearing that. She looked like just about the saddest thing I ever saw, with small drops of tears silently falling down her old, wrinkled cheeks. I didn't greet her or anything, she knew it was me just as I knew it was her. And I, as expected had nothing to say. It was, you know, kind of embarrassing, her just standing there and quietly letting the cruel tears to caress her face. I suddenly felt my eyes going wet as well. And she of course, saw it and came to me and just hugged me and all. She was a nice woman, real nice. I wouldn´t mind having someone like that I thought. But then, I surely would mind letting someone like that here all on her own in a black costume and old fashioned black hat, crying her heart out. "Holden," she then whispered. Her voice was kinda horse from all the crying and so. I felt really sorry then, and so I said. She made this very sad, pathetic imitation of a smile. "It´s nice to see you." I answered in a polite way the same thing. I kinda didn´t know what to do, and she probably knew so she just turned around, taking me by the sleeve. We sat on this old wooden bench, nearby the brand new mountain of sadness that made a new house for old Mr. Spencer. I still wondered what he would say about it.

"How do you do, my dear?" she asked. "Fine," I answered. "And what about you, Mrs. Spencer?" I knew it was a lame question to ask, but to hell with it. I just had to say something, you see. She just smiled and said unnaturally calm "thank you". Then we were sitting there like two birds that forgot to fly south when the time came, all unhappy and sort of stiff, at least in my case. There was this question I like really wanted to ask that kept nagging me. "Mrs. Spencer, why did you marry?" I couldn´t help it, it just kinda spilled out of me. She then stiffened for a second which made me all nervous as hell and then smiled, not the phony smile you would expect, but a nice, warm one. "Having family is nice, dear boy," she said. "It makes you to feel full to know that there is actually waiting someone for you, and you only." It didn´t make sense. But I didn´t interrupt her, thinking she would say something more. I mean, like, I expected some kinda point in it or so. But I just couldn´t see anyone waiting for her, for example. It was a really crappy thing to ask but I just somehow did, damn it. I felt like crap myself then, hurting a fresh widow and all. "No, Holden, you are wrong. He is still there, waiting for me. I can feel him. And that is the reason I cry. I can feel his sorrow as he feels lonely without me. He never liked waiting," she said and then did something that petrified me like hell. She chuckled.

"Holden. I know how hard it is to grow up, to give up all your ideals about simple, funny life. Growing up is painful. Painful, but inevitable. You might not want to admit it, but you yourself changed. You are no more the carefree child, though you still are carefree, I suppose." She then smiled again and wiped up the rest of her tears. Her smile and words kinda shattered my dream of becoming a lone wolf.

Mrs. Spencer left soon after, leaving me with all my messy thoughts and stuff. I wasn´t too grateful to her for that, since in the first place it was her fault it got all messy, damn it. Moreover, I kinda felt that this advice, the advice from a never-alone widow I barely understood was the first advice I really listened to and all. I mean like really feeling the message and all, though it sounds really weird. I really doubted there was a woman like Mrs. Spencer waiting for me. I mean it. I maybe just have bud luck or something. I put my hands into the pockets of my jacket, decided to head home when something hit me. In the right pocket, the one that felt a bit deeper I found it. Kinda soft thing that in the past sure had a great, passionate color, though now was more pinkish or grayish than real red as it used to be. My old hunting hat. As I was holding it in my hand, it looked kinda shrunken or something, like it belong to a completely different person, one with a little size of his head. It made me half-smile as I turned it on my finger. Was it the time to put it aside? I didn´t really know, but still my legs somehow lead me to the old Mr. Spencer´s grave. The brown bulge with many flowers still somehow reminded me of the old guy, the one, probably the first one, who made an effort to persuade me to grow up. I feared phoniness back then. I fear it now. But my red hunting hat was send on the top of the grave, to rest with the old guy forever. If Mrs. Spencer was right, and he knew what was going on here, I am sure he would be kinda glad I found the courage to leave my hat behind, finally after the years.

Epilogue:

"Excuse me, could it be.. Holden Caulfield?" A soft voice appeared in front of me as a nice girl smiled in my face. I nodded silently, not sure if I was really ready for the new times to come and all. "I am Anne Spencer, Mr. Spencer´s niece. Uncle was talking a lot about you," she smiled. It kinda gave me this fluttery feeling in my stomach as I watched her. "I like yur hat," she announced. "I used to have a similar one too, but uncle made me give it up." She then smiled again and I somehow couldn´t help but invite her to a cup of coffee or something. The last time I saw my red hunting hat was then, when I turned around to look at the old geezer watching over my past treasure. The cloth of the hat had the shape of smile.

The END (?)

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Yeah, that´s it. I would appreciate some reviews for my selfish self-flattery :D


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